


A Very Merry UNCLE Christmas

by SydneyMo



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Gen, I'm Bad At Tagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21807424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SydneyMo/pseuds/SydneyMo
Summary: Illya, Gaby, and Solo experience a few mishaps while traveling before the annual UNCLE Christmas party.
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin & Napoleon Solo & Gaby Teller, Illya Kuryakin/Gaby Teller
Comments: 5
Kudos: 47
Collections: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. Winter Holiday Gift Exchange 2019





	1. Illya

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rebelliousrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelliousrose/gifts).



> Merry Christmas everyone! And Happy Holidays especially to our very own Rebelliousrose! Here's to a New Year filled with laughter and happiness and many new UNCLE fics! I hope you enjoy!

_December 3 rd_

“Gaby?” Gaby looked up from the gossip magazine she was reading and frowned at the brown door in front of her where Illya’s frustrated voice had come from.

“Yes?”

The muffled reply had her sighing in annoyance. This was their third leg of a ridiculously long flight from Hong Kong back to London and tired didn’t do the trio justice. They were beyond exhausted. Solo bolted away from their gate as soon as they landed in Helsinki, presumably to find some form of coffee, and Illya and Gaby had found the nearest restaurant to eat an outrageously expensive meal in exhausted silence. Illya was a strong believer in never leaving your plane seat unless you absolutely had to ( _“If engine explodes, you are safest in your seat”)_ so the two had made a quick detour to the restaurants tiny restroom before planning on finding Solo. It was this door that Gaby now stood in front of, hands on her hips.

“I can’t hear you,” her huff of frustration accentuated by the hoarse tones of one who has been awake for over 24 hours. “If you need something you’re going to have to speak up!”

“ _It is stuck!”_ Illya barked through the heavy oak door. Gaby paused at the images that appeared in her sleep deprived brain at his words before blinking and shaking her head.

“ _What’s_ stuck?”

“It is my trousers,” he explained angrily, the sounds of fabric rustling now audible as Gaby moved closer to the door. “I turned from washing my hands and there was nail—it is caught in my back pocket and I cannot see how to unhook it.”

“I can’t leave the bags unattended--”

“ _Yes_ , but I cannot leave bathroom stall without my _pants_.”

Gaby was caught between being amused and annoyed and for a fraction of a second almost wished that Solo was here to handle the fashion emergency.

“Fine, just…unlock the door and I’ll free your trousers.”

A responding _click_ sounded in the small alcove where the bathroom was situated, and Gaby pushed her way into the restroom, dragging their carryon bags behind her.

Illya was mostly turned around, his face a mixture of exasperation and frustration, his torso trying desperately to make it to 180 degrees from his original position. Gaby couldn’t help being reminded of the dogs in movies who had the same expression trying to chase their tails and she let out a small chuckle.

“ _It is not funny!”_ Illya hissed, whipping his head around to glare at the German mechanic.

“It’s a little bit funny,” Gaby tutted, motioning him to step to his right to get a better look at the nail. “It looks like it’s caught up in the seam.”

“Can you get it out?”

“Yes, just give me a minute.”

“A _minute?”_

“It’s an expression, Illya. Now hush, I don’t want to accidentally—”

“How long do you think it will take before—”

“I’m trying to help you and your tone of voice _really_ isn’t—”

“This is not ideal situation and—"

They argued over one another, voices getting louder and louder until

_RIIIIIIIIIP_

They both froze.

“Oops.” Gaby breathed, her eyes going wide.

“Gaby.” Illya’s voice was surprisingly calm and level despite the circumstances.

“Yes?”

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“That ripping noise.”

“Oh, that noise.”

“Yes. That noise.”

There was a pause where neither moved, both too exhausted to be thinking clearly.

“Did you rip my trousers?” Illya asked in the same tone one would use when inquiring about the weather or the latest stock market trends.

“Technically…no,” Gaby started, slowly straightening up to look at Illya’s blank expression. “The nail did.”

“I see,” he nodded solemnly. “And the damage?”

“Extensive.” She admitted. “You don’t happen to have an extra set in your carryon bag, do you?”

“No.”

“Right.” Gaby bit her lip; a solution had come to her mind, but she knew Illya wasn’t going to like it. Then again, walking around an airport in your underwear wasn’t exactly ideal either.

“Just…wait here, I’ll be right back.”

***

Roughly an hour later, Solo reappeared at the departure gate, coffee in hand, looking slightly less like death-on-a-cracker than he had 60 minutes previously. Catching Gaby’s eye, he walked towards the smaller section of seats in a far corner of the lounge where his teammates were sitting, neither speaking.

“There you both are. I didn’t buy you coffee because I figured you would have already had some. Why are you sitting all the way over here? And why does—”

Gaby shot Solo a meaningful glance that both conveyed the need for absolute silence and the need for a large bottle of vodka. It was then that Solo caught site of Illya’s attire.

Illya sat hunched over in a futile attempt to make himself look smaller, his carry-on bag sitting on his lap. But that wasn’t the amusing part. Covering his legs, or at least the uppermost part of his legs, were bright blue HJK football shorts clearly meant for a much smaller man or even possibly a woman. They left little to the imagination and Solo couldn’t help clamping his mouth shut when he noticed Illya was still wearing his shoes and dress socks, his pale legs only accentuating the glittery yellow strips down the sides of his make-shift bottoms.

“It was the only thing I could find in any of the airport shops,” Gaby explained, her voice devoid of emotion. Solo knew that if Illya wasn’t so humiliated and they all weren’t so exhausted, Gaby might be able to crack a smile at their current situation. He had the benefit of being caffeinated and having slept in first class. Not an ideal sleeping situation, to be sure, but much better than that of Gaby and Illya in economy.

Solo nodded, and to Illya’s relief, didn’t say anything.

“Here,” Eventually Illya noticed the Styrofoam travel cup of coffee Solo had shoved beneath his nose.

“I think you need this more than me.”


	2. Solo

_December 12th_

“Well this is just fantastic!” Solo slammed the receiver of the hotel phone down in its cradle, glaring at it as if doing so would make the person on the other end burst into flames.

“I’m sure they’ll find it eventually, Solo,” Gaby said from her perch on the back of one of their rooms many plush chairs where she was admiring the collection of pop records. “They’ll deliver it to the hotel as soon as they can.”

“How hard is it to deliver luggage from London to Poland? It wasn’t even supposed to leave the cargo hold!”

“Why are you worked up about this, Cowboy?” Illya asked, emerging from the far bedroom where he had placed his luggage. “Your suitcases have been lost before; you were not so upset then.”

“That’s because _those_ suitcases, Peril, did not contain my Saint Laurent double-breasted three-piece suit with narrow notch lapels and a single vent down the back.”

Gaby raised her eyebrows at this but Illya nodded; despite his communist upbringing and his disdain for extravagance, he could appreciate the usefulness of a well-tailored suit.

“Well,” Gaby hopped up from the chair and strolled over to her partners in the middle of the chic living area. “You could always borrow some of my clothes.” Illya snorted in laughter and Solo shot Gaby a withering look.

“Or, if push comes to shove, you could borrow Illya’s,” Gaby offered as an alternative. “We don’t have the funds this time around to buy you a whole new wardrobe what with Christmas just around the corner and I don’t think Waverly will take too kindly to an over drafted bank account…again.”

“Besides his clothes being far too large to fit my perfectly symmetrical form—” Gaby smiled and Illya snorted again, but Solo continued as if they hadn’t reacted, “Illya’s suits are a bit too…unsophisticated for my taste.”

“Unsophisticated,” Illya scoffed, folding his arms, and Gaby rolled her eyes before returning to the record collection, knowing this would be another pointless argument between her boys.

“You say this because you are unused to suits that do not deteriorate after three washes, I buy suits that are made to last, not to fall apart at seams to support a capitalist system of ready-made and consumerism.”

“Really? That’s what you went with? The capitalist angle?”

“If a society wants to survive over time, it cannot be through mass consumption of—”

“Not this again, I’d rather never see my suit again than listen to another one of your—”

The argument was halted in its tracks as a knock came from the front door of the suite.

“Oh, good!” Gaby was the first to reach the door, standing on her tip toes to glance out the peephole. “I think it’s your suitcase, Solo.”

She let the bellhop inside and tipped him generously as he set Solo’s black suitcase in the small foyer.

“There,” Gaby pronounced as the door softly clicked closed, “You have nothing to worry about and we can focus on the mission instead of your wardrobes.”

Illya grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like a comment on just where Solo could put his suitcase, when the man in question sat the bag down on the floor and kneeled to open it.

“What’s the matter?” Gaby asked, walking towards Solo as he shook the bag back and forth, listening to the contents slide around.

“The bag feels light, I think some clothing is missing.”

Illya stood behind Gaby who had sat on the floor to help Solo unzip the bag, fingers tapping on his crossed arms.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Solo,” Gaby chastised, flinging open the main compartment. “Of course, there’s nothing—”

Gaby stopped short and the three sat in stunned silence as she slowly drew out a pink dolls dress that looked as if a tulle and glitter shop had gotten sick over its many, many layers. Further inspection of the case found several more dresses, all of varying shades of pink with an unholy number of miniature bows, and finally the china doll itself that was clothed in the ugliest and brightest dress the team had ever seen.

“Huh.” Gaby set the doll gently back inside the suitcase and sat back on her bent legs.

“Huh.” Illya repeated in an agreeing tone.

Gaby snickered at Solo’s stunned almost shell-shocked look.

“I know you have distasteful hobbies, Cowboy, but this is much even for you.”

“Did you see if anything is missing?” Gaby asked innocently.

“I did not see Cowboy’s matching dresses; I think they have been stolen.”

“You’re right,” Gaby agreed, standing up. “These are clearly from a Mommy and Me set, we should call the bellhop straight away and let him know that Napoleon’s belongings have been taken from him.”

“This…this isn’t _my_ bag!” Solo eventually spluttered in protest. “How did this even get here?” Quickly, Solo opened the smaller compartments, tossing doll shoes and doll wigs out of his way until he found an identification tag.

“There, see? This bag belongs to…” he squinted at the untidy lettering on the small purple tag. “Princess Candy Drop?”

“Interesting choice of a cover name, Solo.” Gaby mused, throwing herself onto the settee to lounge across its many pillows. “I would have gone for something a bit more…gosh, what’s the word I’m looking for, Illya?”

“Sophisticated?” Illya supplied helpfully.

“Yes, that’s it! Sophisticated. Princess Candy Drop sounds a bit too unsophisticated for your impeccable taste. Especially with such marvelous outfits.”

“This is ridiculous!” Solo muttered, shoving everything back into the bag and snapping it closed.

“I agree,” Illya mused, moving Gaby’s legs to sit beside her. “Clearly nametag belongs to doll, not Solo.”

“Oh, yes, that makes more sense. What name did you give yourself, Solo?”

“I’m calling the airline!” Napoleon marched to the phone, his face turning nearly as pink as the doll’s dresses.


	3. Gaby

_December 23rd_

“Are you sure you want to wear that, Gabs?” Napoleon asked.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Gaby deftly tied her hair into a knot at the nape of her neck before turning to face Solo, her hands on her hips. “You and Illya wear trousers every day, its about time I had the same luxury.”

Solo followed her into the living room of Gaby’s small London flat. “It just doesn’t seem like quite your style.” He admitted, putting his winter coat on and handing Gaby her scarf.

“My style,” she wrapped the scarf around her neck and put on her own coat, followed shortly by a knitted hat. “Is to be as comfortable as possible. You and Illya are lucky I don’t show up to the office wearing jersey-bottoms and a t-shirt.”

Solo shuddered at the image of such a fashion faux pas, but held the door open for her nonetheless and graciously offered her his arm.

“Illya is meeting us where, exactly?” she asked, huffing as they stepped outside into the cold evening air.

“Just our local haunt, that pub around the corner from the office. I thought it would be nice to celebrate Christmas just the three of us before the big office party tomorrow night. Especially since Santa will be a bit busy tomorrow.”

Gaby frowned as they crossed the street to hail a cab. “Santa?”

“Ah, I figured the leading man would have already told you. Illya has graciously excepted the role of the dearest Mr. Clause himself at tomorrows Christmas party.”

“You’re joking.”

“As much as I’m sure Illya wishes it so, I am not. Though I think we’d better keep an eye on him tonight lest he try and poison himself with his own cyanide capsule.”

Gaby snorted, knowing Solo was kidding about the cyanide but not so sure that Illya wouldn’t try and find a way out of the next nights festivities.

Her thoughts were occupied as the two got into the cab and Napoleon kept up a nice chat with the taxi driver about the Christmas holiday, allowing her to think about the party more clearly.

Though she had never said it out loud, Gaby was rather fond of the Russian agent and, as much as she tried to internally deny it, she knew that those feelings went much farther than that of her fondness of Napoleon. With Illya there was…more. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something about his presence always made her feel safe and cared for, ever since that first night in Rome when she had drunkenly tackled him. Gaby couldn’t help smiling at the memory, blurred as it was from nearly an entire bottle of high-quality vodka.

“We’re here,” Solo nudged Gaby gently with his shoulder before hopping out of the cab and leaning through the open passenger side window to offer the cabbie their fare. Pulling her hat tightly around her ears, Gaby scooted across the seat after her partner and stood by his elbow as he paid.

“Cheers, mate.” The cabbie tipped his hat at the two. “You gentlemen have a happy Christmas.”

“ _What?”_ Gaby asked incredulously but the driver didn’t hear her as he drove down the road in search of new passengers.

“What did he just say?” Gaby’s voice had risen a few octaves and Solo coughed in a manner that sounded suspiciously like he was trying to cover a laugh.

“Come on, Illya’s probably already inside and you know how well he handles social interaction.”

“Unbelievable,” Gaby muttered, following Solo as he walked to the pub door. “The first evening out where I wear pants.”

“I asked you if you were sure about your outfit, Gabs. And I don’t think that hat covering your hair helped anything.” Gaby huffed, motioning for him to get the door as she buried her hands deeper in her pockets, trying not to pout.

“I _am_ sure about this outfit, its everyone else that isn’t sure.” She grumbled half-heartedly.

Solo nodded in acquiescence and held the door for Gaby to enter the blessedly warm bar.

“After you, my good sir.” 

She huffed angrily, making sure to stomp heavily on his foot as she passed and immediately went to the bar in search of a warm drink with plenty of alcohol.


	4. All Together Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to post the final chapter! I hope you enjoy it!

_December 24 th _

“Well, I look dashingly handsome.” Solo mused, looking himself up and down in the mirror in the communal restroom before glancing at Gaby’s reflection. “Or should I say _Dasher-_ ly handsome?” Gaby gave him a blank look at his Christmas pun, and Napoleon sighed.

“Never mind. Have you seen Peril yet? I can’t wait to see what his costume looks like.”

“Presumably like all other Father Christmas costumes. Red suit, white beard,” She shrugged, folding her arms over her new floor-length evening gown.

“What’s the matter, Gabs? You found the notion of our dear Red Peril as Santa infinitely amusing yesterday. What’s changed since then?” He turned to face her, adjusting her necklace so the clasp was at the back of her neck. She swatted his hand away.

“Nothing, I’m just tired of Christmas, that’s all.”

“We haven’t even begun to celebrate Christmas yet!” Solo chastised, taking his friend's arm and guiding her out of the bathroom and into the festively decorated hall. The sounds of the jazz band playing upbeat Christmas songs and the bellows of hearty laughter proved that the UNCLE office was filled with people enjoying themselves. Normally, Gaby thrived off this environment. She loved parties and she got along with nearly everyone who worked at UNCLE, this was her element. But something was bothering her, and Solo could tell something was up.

As the two walked down the hallway towards the large room that had been cleared for the party, Napoleon paused and, putting both hands on Gaby’s shoulders, stopped her in her tracks and turned her to face him.

“What’s going on, Gaby?”

“ _Nothing_ ,” Gaby hissed, scowling. “I wish you’d stop acting like such a mother hen!” Solo raised his hands in surrender, and the two continued down the hall to join the party.

Immediately, the source of Gaby’s discomfort became clear.

“Ah,” Solo made an understanding noise in the back of his throat and glanced at Gaby out of the corner of his eye. “That might be a problem.”

Though Illya was clearly uncomfortable in his oversized Santa suit sitting in the corner of the room in a large chair, what was making him even more uncomfortable was the long line of prettily dressed women, all chatting excitedly, waiting their turn to sit on Santa’s lap. Illya scratched at the long white beard covering his face and shifted in his seat while one of the UNCLE technical specialists set up a polaroid camera facing the “Santa’s Workshop” display.

“Why did he even decide to take this job?” Gaby muttered, glaring at a few secretaries in particular who were whispering amongst themselves and giggling.

“I might have had a small part to play in that arrangement,” Solo admitted guiltily.

“You what?” For a minute, Gaby’s anger was forgotten as her expression turned to one of complete confusion. “How would you have had anything to do with this?”

“Uh…”

***

_Three weeks earlier…_

_“Agent Solo! There you are, I was wondering if I might have a moment of your time.” Napoleon had just filed his last report for the day and was itching to get out on the town and find a girl to spend the evening with when Waverly caught him next to the elevators._

_“Of course, sir. What can I do for you?”_

_“Well, as you know, Christmas is coming up and I thought it would be great fun to hold an office Christmas party.”_

_Solo raised his eyebrows, but his boss was clearly excited about the idea, so he said nothing._

_“I was hoping that you might do us the honor of dressing up as Father Christmas for one of our activities. A photo booth.”_

_“Isn’t that a bit…childish, sir?”_

_Waverly chuckled. “I think we could all use a bit of Christmas cheer, don’t you?”_

_A noise caught the pair's attention and the two turned in time to see Illya angrily stomping out of one of the technical workrooms, one of the newer agents following behind, holding the remnants of what was clearly a failed gadget of one kind or another._

_“You know, sir,” Napoleon started, a wide grin spreading across his face, his eyes lighting up. “As much as I would love to accept your proposal, I’d hate to take away the fun from Illya.”_

_Waverly frowned in confusion. “Agent Kuryakin?”_

_“Yes,” Solo’s voice took on a secretive tone. “Behind that tough exterior lies a devotee of the Christmas spirit.”_

_“I see,” Waverly allowed slowly, his voice colored with disbelief._

_“I know it’s hard to believe, but our dear Red Peril absolutely_ adores _Christmastime. It goes against his Russian upbringing to be sure, but he’s fallen for the idea of a western Christmas. I’d hate to take away something that would bring him so much joy.”_

_“You think Agent Kuryakin would want to be Santa Clause for our photo booth?”_

_“He’ll deny it, of course, but during our last mission, he expressed the sentiment to Agent Teller and myself. Nothing would bring him greater joy than to be the center of attention at the office party.”_

_Waverly’s eyebrows had all but disappeared into his hairline as he shook his head in wonder. “I would never have guessed that Kuryakin could be so…festive! If you say this will make him happy, Solo, then I’ll give him the job.” He shook his head again, turning away. “Who would have thought? But you are his partner after all…”_

_“No one knows him better,” Solo said, smiling mischievously from ear to ear._

***

“You didn’t!”

“I did.” Solo admitted sheepishly. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” Gaby smacked him on the arm and Napoleon had the decency to wince.

“I figured it would just be Illya dressed up as Santa for a few office pictures, I didn’t realize it would be a whole…well.”

He gestured at the scene in front of them as the first woman went up to Illya.

“And to think, that could have been me.”

Gaby frowned and folded her arms again. “He won’t let them sit on his lap, it’s just unprofessional.”

“Yes,” Solo allowed, letting the word become multiple syllables. “But these women have had quite a few glasses of eggnog and I wouldn’t be surprised if—ah, see?”

Illya, or Santa for that matter, had moved to the far end of his chair, allowing space for the UNCLE secretary to both sit next to him but also be as far away as possible. The woman ignored this gesture, however, and promptly sat on Illya’s crimson velvet-covered lap and pressed her cheek to his while smiling at the camera.

“He’s actually handling this quite well,” Napoleon mused, taking Gaby’s hand and placing it in the crook of his arm. “He hasn’t flipped tables or run away yet. Care for some eggnog, Gaby?”

One look at the expression on Gaby’s face told him all he needed to know.

“I’ll get you two.”

***

The party was in full swing less than an hour later as the food was being served and the band began to play songs that were more suitable for dancing. Solo had twirled Gaby around the floor a few times in an attempt to cheer her up and while she did enjoy dancing, Gaby excused herself after the third dance to allow Solo a chance at a more enthusiastic partner.

“You’d think they’d have decent drinks at this party.” Gaby grumbled to herself as she perused the buffet table filled with Christmas cookies, cheese platters, and many a homemade dish provided by a few of the agents and their wives, but the only alcohol Gaby could find was a few bottles of red wine and the spiked eggnog at the end of the table.

Sighing, she turned and ran smack dab into Illya.

“Oof!” The two practically bounced apart at the impact and Gaby casually thought that it was a good thing she hadn’t been holding any drinks.

“Shouldn’t you be back at your workshop?” Gaby asked, rubbing her forehead where it had collided with Illya’s chest, and allowing a bit of venom to seep into her words.

“They needed more film,” Illya explained, his eyes moving to her head, checking for injury. She clamped a hand over the spot and glared at him.

“Right, with so many women waiting to tell you what they _really_ want for Christmas, it would be a shame not to capture the entire event.”

“I didn’t ask to—”

“Don’t let me stop you from enjoying yourself,” she marched around him, heading for the bathroom, ignoring him as he called her name. She knew she was being unfair, Illya wasn’t truly enjoying himself, he was just doing what he had to do, but she had already had four eggnogs and the still-long line at the photo booth was doing nothing to improve her mood.

Across the room, Solo sat at a corner table with a pretty young red-headed secretary, and sighed, watching Gaby storm away from Illya.

“What’s the matter?” the woman asked, her back to the scene, and brushed a lock of hair away from Solo’s eyes.

“It’s nothing,” he admitted and stood abruptly. “I’m just going to have to do something I _really_ don’t want to do. Would you mind, terribly, if I borrowed your lipstick?”

***

After composing herself, Gaby sat alone at one of the far tables, absently picking at a crumbling cookie shaped to look like a Christmas tree. She really should pull herself together, she mused, but she couldn’t help the spike of jealousy that hit her as a group of giggling women walked towards her table.

“Wasn’t that Santa so handsome!”

“And so tall! I wonder where they found him?”

“He doesn’t work for the agency?”

“ _I_ wouldn’t mind being in an interrogation room with him!” The group passed by, laughing, oblivious to Gaby’s gritted teeth and crushed cookie.

Suddenly, across the room, there was a large commotion that caused Gaby and the group of women to turn around. Solo had appeared wearing reindeer antlers with red makeup on his nose and was circling the room tossing candy canes to the women who giggled delightedly as he began to retell his own version of _The Night Before Christmas._

“’Twas the night before Christmas and all through the office not a person was working, if we’re being honest!” He waggled his eyebrows at the laughing crowd and continued to circle the room.

“The papers were filed in the cabinets with care, the party had started, and St. Nick was there!” Gaby could see Illya stiffen from across the room, but Solo the Red-nosed Reindeer took no notice and went on with his poem.

“The women were seated all snug at their tables, all giggling at thoughts that are best left for stables!” The crowd burst into hoots and laughter and Gaby couldn’t help smiling a small sympathetic smile as Illya turned as red as his Santa suit.

“The men with their eggnog, and I with my antlers, we all were debating a type of enhancer!” More hoots from the crowd. “When notice, I did, a gargantuan matter, so I came along to join in the clatter,”

“’Round the party floor I have flown like a flash, but I’ve yet to see a woman for the Mrs. Clause sash! The moon rises high in the night this is true, but still, there is no one to make Clause less blue!”

The crowd oohed audibly as Solo produced a large red hair ribbon with white painted letters reading _Mrs. Clause_ and Gaby rolled her eyes. Yet another way for women to throw themselves at Illya’s feet, this party had gone from ridiculous to all-out madness. What Solo was thinking and Illya hadn’t bolted from the room were both beyond her but she knew herself well enough to know that she wouldn’t enjoy the outcome of this little poem one bit, no matter how clever or how ridiculous Solo looked with his bright red nose.

“But look! Over yonder! A woman appears! Could she be the one to stop St. Nick’s tears?” Everyone watched as the makeshift reindeer made his way to where Gaby was sitting and yanked her to her feet.

Gaby was too shocked to protest as Solo threw the ribbon around her neck and led her across the room.

“ _What are you doing?”_ She hissed, trying to keep her face neutral as he hooked her arm through his.

“Be quiet,” he whispered back, “You wouldn’t believe how long it took me to write this. If I’m doing it, I’m going to do it right.”

“She seems a good fit, would you not agree?” He continued, gesturing to the crowd who clapped loudly, fully immersed in Solo’s attempt at poetry. “Let’s check with Santa, perhaps two will make three!” Gaby turned almost as red as Illya and dug her heels into the carpeted floor to no avail.

“Don’t drag me into this nonsense, Napoleon, I don’t want to do this!” It was a struggle to keep her voice low, her heart beating madly.

“Just trust me! I know what I’m doing.”

“ _Do you?_ ” Solo ignored her.

“There’s a wink in his eye!” Solo crowed, “A twist of his head! It won’t be long ‘till he takes her to bed!” The crowd continued to howl with mirth, and Gaby caught sight of Waverly at one of the far tables shaking his head, clearly annoyed, but with a bemused smile across his face.

“Look at this ballgown and look how she gleams!” They had reached the photo booth and Solo grabbed Illya’s arm, hauling him up from where he was rooted in an oversized chair. “He sprang to his sleigh if you know what I mean!” The conspiratorial tone in which Solo delivered his line made even Gaby’s anger weaken slightly though Illya hadn’t moved a muscle.

“They speak not a word, but the party’s not finished! Why our Christmas cheer, it has barely diminished!”

“Cowboy,” Illya breathed in warning.

“Hush!” The instruction was given as Solo tugged the pair towards the hallway, hamming up his performance to the delight of the crowd.

“And yes, though it pains us, a goodbye is due; to St. Nick, his reindeer, and Mrs. Clause too. But keep heart! Enjoy! Keep the party alight!” They had reached the exit and Napoleon turned with a flourish.

“Merry Christmas to all! And to all a good-night!”

The crowd cheered as Solo bowed and walked backwards into the hallway dragging Illya and Gaby with him, the door swinging closed.

***

Not five minutes later, Gaby and Illya stood behind Solo in the communal bathroom, both with their arms crossed as Napoleon splashed water on his face to wash the bright red makeup off his nose.

“I think that went rather well, don’t you?” He asked the pair, ducking his head down to let the water fall back into the sink.

“ _What_ went well?” Illya threw his hands up in the air, his beard and hat long since disposed of.

“My diversion.” Solo rinsed his mouth and spit into the sink before turning off the water before facing his partners. “Look, you weren’t happy being Santa, Gaby wasn’t happy with you being Santa, and I wasn’t happy with you both being unhappy. The easiest solution was to remove you from the situation.”

“You created even bigger mess,” Illya sat down on the rooms fainting couch, shaking his head.

“Not quite,”

Gaby moved to sit next to Illya, a sigh escaping her lips. “Did you try and come up with some sort of ingenious evil plot and this was the result?”

“Ingenious? Maybe, but hardly evil.” Leaning against the sink and bracing his hands on either side of him, Solo began.

“I borrowed bits and pieces of the Christmas poem we would do every year in the army,” he explained. “I knew that people still wanted to take pictures with Santa in the photobooth so you couldn’t just walk away, as much as you might like to,” Illya nodded at this. “So, I figured that a reindeer getup was the easiest way to make the party better. Now everyone is focused on the naughty poem and will want to take pictures with Rudolph, point for me, Illya can slip out of his Santa costume and no one will be the wiser, point for him, Gaby gets to leave the party and find a real drink, point for her, and Waverly has an explanation as to why I offered up Illya as a Santa replacement, point for everyone. Is it so out of character for me to upstage my partners?”

Gaby shook her head but Illya held up a finger, his eyes narrowing.

“What do you mean, ‘offer Illya as Santa replacement’?”

“Listen to them laugh,” Solo commented instead of responding, rolling his shoulders and flashing the pair a smile. “Sounds like the ladies are ready for more Rudolph! You kids have fun. If you need me, I’ll be at the photobooth helping a few nice secretaries fulfill their Christmas list.” With that, he was out the door.

Illya muttered something under his breath in Russian that Gaby suspected was a none too flattering description of Solo’s character, before he sat back in his seat, allowing his head to rest against the wall.

“I am sorry about earlier.” Illya finally said, his voice quiet. “I did not mean to hurt you. Is your head alright?”

“What?” Gaby’s eyebrows pushed together before understanding dawned across her features. “Oh, that. No, Illya, I’m not hurt, I wasn’t upset about that.”

“What were you upset about?”

“It just…” Gaby sighed, leaning her own head back against the wall to stare up at the ceiling. “Makes me uncomfortable to see you so uncomfortable. I knew you didn’t want to play Santa.”

“It would not have been too terrible.” Illya mused, his shoulder lifting in a half shrug.

“How’s that?”

“If you had been one of women in line, I might have been able to bear it.”

Gaby laughed, rubbing her hands across her face and letting them flop back to her sides when something caught her eye.

She pointed up at the ceiling directly above them.

“What on earth is that?”

Illya looked up where she was pointing and frowned. “Hmm. Mistletoe.”

Gaby’s nose wrinkled, a scoff leaving her lips. “Who puts mistletoe in a bathroom?”

Gaby froze as she felt Illya’s soft lips quickly and deftly brush across her cheekbone. She turned to face him.

“Is bad luck to spurn tradition,” Illya explained, shrugging again, eyes fixed on the plant hanging above them. “Did Cowboy say something about real drinks?”

Gaby smiled. “Any interest in ditching the party and going to a bar?”

“A bar?”

“A quiet bar.”

“There is such a thing?”

“Well, there is when it’s the makeshift bar in my kitchen.” Gaby grinned and Illya scoffed before smiling a genuine smile.

“Can I remove Santa costume?”

“Please do,” she patted him on the knee before standing and heading for the door. “I’ll go find a getaway car.”

Illya’s smile widened as he watched her stretch her arms above her head and then walk out of the bathroom towards the main entrance.


End file.
